


dappled

by rockthecliche



Series: Resident: Eyesores [2]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Kanjani8 (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockthecliche/pseuds/rockthecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Painting is something that makes it more for Yasu's birthday than Massu's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dappled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greatfountain](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=greatfountain).



> Blame this on Yasu for being an artistic little shit and Massu for being such a willing participant. Kind of. And Katie.

He starts with his leg, drawing thick lines of custard yellow from ankle to knee, branches of sorbet orange feathering out and spreading on the pale skin, extending over and tapering off at the calf. The brush glides over the indentations of his knee, leaving a watermelon pink in its path, and it morphs into a fresh apple red by the time the bristles brush over his thigh, running swirls from knee to hip, following up with a separate system of jagged lines and shapes meticulously applied to the pale skin of his inner thigh. The muscle there pulls taut in effort to keep from moving too much and Yasu rewards the effort with a light press of his lips to the inside of Massu’s knee. Massu jerks a little but quickly stiffens up, fisting the plain white sheet in his hands. Yasu brushes his fingers against the front of Massu’s nude-colored underwear in what should be construed as a promise rather than a tease. He moves away from the bed and gets fresh brushes; Yasu repeats the process on Massu’s other leg, this time from lilac to candy blue to a deep navy. The design stays the same save for a few minor details but all in all, it’s a job well done so far, despite having nothing resembling a plan. After Yasu draws in some details with a thin brush dipped with white, he shifts and slides off the bed, gathering his things and relocating to the other end, ignoring the way Massu’s eyes are dark and lidded, following his movements.

The arms are painted in a similar fashion, emulating the same colors with few variants – the custard yellow is replaced with an earthy green, the pink and red mixed respectively to a more vibrant shade to stand out stronger against the slightly darker skin of Massu’s arms. For his shoulders and neck, Yasu straddles Massu’s chest and turns to fingerpainting, swirling and smoothing whorls of espresso brown from shoulder to neck as he tastes the coffee leftover from breakfast on Massu's lips and tongue, soothing the nerves and need for more contact than the glide of a paintbrush can give him. Breaking away, Yasu dips his fingers back into the pool of brown paint, then presses his fingertips against Massu's chest and collarbone, marking the ridge. He swipes them downwards, over his chest and fading off at his stomach. Massu's chest rises and falls with his breathing, Yasu hearing each breath as he exhales. As Yasu repeats the process on Massu's chest with orange, the other's need to move starts to distract him -- every flex of his fingers and hands makes him move, no matter how small, forming cracks in the color covering his arms and shoulders. Though the paint on his arms is hardly dry, Massu comes to his limit soon and grips Yasu by his hips and sitting up. Yasu hadn't even noticed the telltale hardness pressing against his thigh until now.

"Are you finished yet?" Massu asks, voice drawn thin and low.

Yasu considers this, looks at the small container of orange paint in his hands, then decides that yeah, he's finished. "Can I take a picture at least?"

Massu doesn't respond, merely tugs Yasu forward by his shirt and kisses him. "You asked to paint me, and you did."

"And I appreciate you letting me paint you." Yasu carefully puts the paint by the bedside table and leans back a little, grasping his shirt from the hem and tugging it up and over his head. "I just want to keep some evidence of it before you wash it off, since I know you're itching to do so." He drags his knuckles against the front of Massu's underwear, the back of his fingers framing the bulge there. Massu makes short work of Yasu's pants, easily pushing them off his hips in a large pool of paint splattered fabric.

"You can do that later." Massu moves to slide the rest of his pants off but Yasu stops him.

"You're in a rush," Yasu remarks.

"When your boyfriend spends an hour running his hands all over you with a brush and his fingers while you're naked, you tend to get ideas."

Yasu laughs, permitting the other to slip his pants the rest of the way off. "You know that if I can't get a picture of it today, I'll just make you sit through all that torture again."

"It's torture that you keep talking," Massu murmurs, effectively silencing him then with his lips. Yasu reciprocates in kind, licking into his mouth, words unneeded as they push and pull, kiss and bite for dominance, though Massu's not putting up much a fight this time, which suits him just fine. It's the man's birthday, he can have what he wants.

For all the urgency Massu speaks with, none of that bleeds into his actions -- Yasu even chuckles at the presumed involuntary gestures to keep the paint from smearing too much because, knowing Massu, if he's going to be covered in paint it might as well stay pristine. There's some pretty clumsy fumbling for all the necessities, not to mention Massu almost kicking Yasu in the stomach as they try to get his underwear off without disturbing the paint, but the rest of movements come naturally, both unabashedly familiar with the process by this point. Which is a good thing -- Massu's increasingly needy, and it's not as if Yasu is some paragon of self-control right now, either.

When he slides into Massu, the friction grips and surrounds his cock with slick, sweet heat. Massu grunts at the intrusion, whispers a rather demanding _"fuck me,"_ into Yasu's ear and he takes that as his cue, spreading Massu's legs a little more before starting a slow, smooth slide out followed by a quick thrust in. Massu clamps down around him, squeezing tight as a ragged moan is torn from his throat, Yasu following through with a steady pace, pressing in deep, pulling hips flush against hips.

Sweat makes the paint run and it's beautiful, watching the colors blend and make an utter mess of the sheets, Yasu's hands, Massu's body, fingers leaving color wherever they touched. Massu squirms, pants harsh breaths into the heated air, and all Yasu wants to do is make him scream. He knows he's in over his head. He should know better than to get involved so deep. What they have is chaotic and undefined, but it is beautiful, and maybe, just maybe, Yasu's touches can impress upon Massu the scent of his skin.

Yasu finishes with a loud cry, his release jolting through his body as Massu whimpers underneath him, still hard. Yasu pulls out and takes him into his mouth, sucking hard with hollowed cheeks, tongue lying flat in wait for when Massu spills onto it. Massu's cock swells when he comes, ragged moan against the back of his hand, collapsing when he's spent. Yasu wipes his mouth, letting Massu slip from his lips. He nudges Massu with his knee and gets a tired _c'mere_ , so Yasu wraps himself all around him and if Massu minds, he doesn't protest; rather, he turns into the warmth, nose pressed against Yasu's collarbone.

In a matter of moments, Massu may get up and insist on washing all the paint off. Or he may keep laying there, dozing off to a light snore against Yasu's shoulder. He's going to have to be okay with both options.

The picture he takes of the smeared-beyond-recognition paint in the morning is hardly the masterpiece he finished with, this he knows. Still, it's a piece he'll remember for a very long time.


End file.
